


7 Words and a Metaphor

by LizBee



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-04-07
Updated: 2006-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:38:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizBee/pseuds/LizBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know," said the Doctor, "I could bring your government down with a single word."</p>
            </blockquote>





	7 Words and a Metaphor

"You know," said the Doctor thoughtfully, "I could bring down your government with a single word."

"Really?" Romana showed no surprise at his presence. "One word?"

He emerged from the shadow of a pillar into the dark courtyard, one of the few places in the Capitol where the ravages of time could be seen. It was probably symbolic. Few people ever ventured this way, and the Chancellery guard waiting outside the entrance gates had looked distinctly uneasy.

"Well, no," he admitted, "seven, actually." He sat down beside her on the worn bench. At her feet, neatly folded, sat the elaborate outer robes of the president's ceremonial costume.

"Ah," she said, "seven."

He counted them out on his fingers: "'The Doctor taught her everything she knows.' Seven."

"Is that all?" She gave him a sidelong glance. It was, he decided, probably amused. Almost certainly amused.

"'Is that all?'" he demanded "I thought it was a very clever bit of revolution-fomenting."

"It has a certain simple appeal," she conceded.

"Safe, too. Drop it in a few carefully chosen ears, wait for the rumour to spread, watch the government collapse. It's very efficient. For example, I'm about to leave, but if I dropped a few words into the ear of every Time Lord I encountered on my way to the TARDIS, you could be out of a job within two years."

"If you say so."

"I do! It's almost foolproof."

She looked unconvinced. "Isn't it a bit slow? I thought proper revolutions were over rather quickly. The traditional kind, anyway."

The Doctor gestured in such a way as to imply that one could possibly have too much of a good thing.

"If I didn't know better," she added, "I'd have thought the new approach was a sign of relative maturity. You're on your eighth life, it's not completely implausible. Of course, I do know better."

"I'm beginning to think you're going to be one of those disgustingly smug presidents."

"Really?" She sounded unmoved. "Anyway, it's hardly a new thought. I can't breathe without someone on the High Council complaining that it's a bad habit I probably picked up from you. Anyway," she leaned back against a pillar that was both ancient and ageless, "why do you want to topple my government? I'm rather pleased with it myself."

"It's a very nice government," he assured her. "Hardly corrupt at all, and quite innovative by Gallifreyan standards."

"That's a very one-hearted comment."

"That's funny, because I was about to say that Time Lords don't usually believe in half-measures. It's finding a middle ground between complete stagnation and universal domination that causes all the problems. Being president is like," he searched for an appropriately Gallifreyan metaphor, failed, and settled for the next best thing, "teaching a Dalek to make a proper cup of tea. Absurd, pointless and almost certain to end in tears."

"I don't see why you're such an expert on the presidency. You," Romana said with a fleeting smile, "ran away."

"I came back."

"Eventually."

"It was the only sensible option, under the circumstances. I thought you'd have seen it for yourself by now. You'd be much happier somewhere else."

"Mm. Somewhere with you?"

He brushed a non-existent bit of fluff from his sleeve. "Our paths might cross now and then."

"They can't cross now and then when you visit Gallifrey?"

"I try not to do that too often."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Sarcasm, Romana, is an adjusted stress reaction. As for Gallifrey, the food is awful and there's no nightlife to speak of. And don't get me started on the climate."

"But, Doctor, it's controlled."

"Exactly. Don't you ever wish for a nice blizzard to liven things up?"

Romana looked up. The stars over Gallifrey, distorted by the dome and the transduction barriers around the planet, were bright and unchanging in the night sky.

"You could stay. And change Gallifrey."

He gave her a wary look. "You're not going to offer me a place on a committee, are you? I'm not very good at committees."

"No. I've noticed. But you could open a nightclub."

He laughed. "Certainly," he said, "and when you're impeached you can come and work for me."

"What a kind offer. It would make a radical change from the traditional presidential retirement."

"'Retirement'. You're only on your second incarnation. I don't know what they were thinking, appointing you."

"That I'd be easily manipulated, I think."

"Charming. Why did you take it?"

"I suppose..." she pushed a strand of hair out of her face, and in the semi-darkness he thought she might be embarrassed. "I suppose I've seen so many stagnant and decaying societies in my travels, and when I finally returned to Gallifrey, the parallel came as a nasty shock. I started to think I had experience that might be useful in effecting change." She wrinkled her nose. "I didn't actually expect to end up in the presidency. Suddenly I'm caught up in a million kinds of bureaucracy. Any real reform will take time."

"Most things do, here. It's a waste if you ask me."

"Of time?"

"Of you."

Romana gave him a cool look, but he kept going.

"All that energy you're putting in, all for little revolutions and small changes. All this – compromise!"

She raised her eyebrows.

"I just think I taught you better."

"Would you like to dance?"

"I beg your pardon? I was launching into a tirade."

Romana stood up and held out her hand.

"Dance," she said. "With me."

Unable to find an answer he said, "There's no music."

"You can't be much of a Time Lord if you can't keep a beat."

"…True."

"Dance with me? Please?"

He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"The problem," said Romana, arranging one of his hands on her waist and taking the other, "is that if Gallifrey changed, you might find yourself with nothing to rebel against."

"That's not it at all—"

"It's a compensation syndrome," she added. "I've been saying it for years."

"Well, now, it's there that you're completely wrong."

"Admit it; you're enjoying the status quo."

"You're teasing me."

"Am I really?"

"You're also leading."

"Well, someone has to."

"I meant in the sense of dancing."

"So did I."

"You've hijacked me into a metaphor!"

"No," said Romana patiently, "you're just not a very good dancer."

"And it's pretty average, you know, for a metaphor. I'd almost go so far as to call it embarrassing."

Romana paused and allowed him to take the lead. He managed to avoid crushing the presidential toes. He was quite pleased with that.

"If I ever need a literary critic," she said, "you'll be the first person I call."

"I suppose it won't be the worst job Gallifrey has foisted upon me." She raised her eyebrows. "Not that I think of you as just a representative of Gallifrey, of course," he added quickly, "or as the embodiment of the legacy of Rassilon, or anything else like that. It's just that – Borusa never danced with me."

"Really? What a terrible missed opportunity."

"Neither did Flavia. Nor any other high Gallifreyan officials."

"I'm sure they would have, if you'd asked nicely." Romana kissed his cheek. "I like to be a bit different. Stops people from getting complacent."

"Very thoughtful of you, really."

"I also like to dance, and I don't meet many good partners here." She paused and added, "no metaphors, by the way."

"I wouldn't dream of being metaphorical."

"No? You do spend a lot of time with humans."

"They're very underrated as a species."

"Ah." Romana looked up absently. "You know, I can reduce your seven words down to six."

"Really? How?"

She whispered it in his ear.

"That's rather clever!"

"I'm glad you like it."

"Versatile, too."

"I thought so. And, when I _do_ get tired—"

"Or turn into a megalomaniacal despot—"

"—Then you can come back, do your work—"

"—And imprison you beyond the reach of time and space!"

"—And we can go away in the TARDIS and it will be just like the old days."

"That does sound nice," he admitted.

"Only nice?"

"Better than nice."

"Good." She looked wistful. "Do you have to leave right away, Doctor?"

"I'm surprised you're not trying to get rid of me."

"Oh well," Romana shrugged, "I quite like having you around. You keep people on their toes."

"I am sorry about the incident with—"

"Don't mention it." Romana released him and stepped back. "Can I at least walk you back to your TARDIS?"

He offered her his arm; she squeezed it and reached down to take his hand instead. As they left the courtyard, he was gratified to see a scandalised expression on the face of the Chancellery guard.

"Please _try_ to avoid breaking the laws of time any more than you have to," said Romana as they approached the TARDIS. "People seem to think I'm somehow responsible for you."

"I'll do my best."

"And don't get into any silly scrapes."

"By whose definition of 'silly'?"

"And – oh, stay safe, Doctor?"

She kissed his cheek again, paused for a second, and hugged him. Caught in a sudden onslaught of presidential affection, the Doctor did the only thing possible, and hugged her back.

Romana let go of him, straightened her robes and, with the utmost dignity said, "Very well, Doctor. You may leave."

The Doctor pushed a stray bit of hair out of his eyes. "Thank you, Lady President."

As he was closing the door, she said, "Oh, and Doctor?"

He paused.

"Have fun."

He returned her grin and closed the door, and dematerialised before he could change his mind and stay.

 

end


End file.
